Truth Will Out Wednesday

It is easier to feel confident in your predictions
if they’re made while extremely pissed.

And yet another guy says
we haven’t heard the last of him…
(which further erodes my already shaky support
of mans’ belief that truth should “will out.”)


This guy I know from another world
spent part of his last visit here checking out
man’s literature, and became particularly interested
in three dimensional, mortal concepts of life and death,
and when he left he gave me his own little
“poetic version” which reads,
“Death is an immense journey,
and life but a short stop at a wayside inn.” 
(You don’t hear much insight and sentiment
like that since everyone died.)


All kings know that humor can’t be
jailed, fined, or put on probation,
it can only be executed, and the sooner the better.

Incongruity is the soul of discovery…
(unless you “know what you’re doing,”
and then you’re not going to discover anything anyway.)

Once a year, on the dot, at the spot,
this one man would call all his children together
and announce, “You’re not my children!” 
(They and he were always greatly
relieved-and-freed and would celebrate
with preemptive abandon.)



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